


Big & Little

by Girl_chama



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Big Brothers, Bromance, Cultural References, Friendship, Gen, Little Brothers, Love, hot wings, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girl_chama/pseuds/Girl_chama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wonder if your new romance will last under the strain of Darcy’s coming need for retaliation.”</p><p>“I wonder if you know the difference between romance and bromance. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big & Little

**Author's Note:**

> Originally prompted at Avengerkink: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/5102.html?thread=5814510#t5814510, and now more thoroughly edited for your reading pleasure.

“So.  Burgers?” Darcy offered, and grinned when Steve’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, I know a great place down on Flatbush in Brooklyn that has the best burgers and malts.  I mean, if they’re still around.

“Well let’s start there, then.   Have a good chat over a burger… There are actually a ton of mom and pop places that have been open for decades all over the city.”

“You think?”

He opened his mouth to express his enthusiasm for the idea when Clint Barton, just entering the building, veered his course straight towards them.  Darcy did not look at the archer or change her pace, but as soon as they were within range, both raised their hands for a high-five that echoed through the atrium.  The motion carried through and down into a low-five that paced quickly after the first, and as Barton continued walking, both of them snapped their fingers over their shoulders.

Steve was so confused that by the time he shifted his attention from Barton, already disappeared into the stairwell, to Darcy, she was already holding the door open.  For him.

“Yeah, people are totally into supporting the local economy and fostering a sense of community with others, ya know?” she continued without missing a beat.

“Uh, what?”

“Burgers, Steve.  Jeez, let’s go.”

-

Bruce held up the arrow by its shaft as he regarded it.  The head was incredibly sharp to his eyes, even without glasses, and knowing the force that Mr. Barton could put behind it with the proper bow, made his stomach drop a little to think about.  Apparently, it was not up to snuff, though, the way Clint was eyeing the thing with more than a little annoyance on top of his usual focus.

“You know, I’m pretty sure this is more Tony’s niche,” Bruce attempted, completely sincere.

“Yeah, but he’s out of town for the next two weeks.”

“Ah, so that’s why it’s been so quiet.”

“So is there anything you can do about the trajectory being off?  I mean, it’s physics, right?”

Bruce sighed and shuffled his shoulders.  It was physics, basic physics even. Yet, he could not help but wonder how someone so adept as Barton was bothering him with the question.  He seemed skilled enough to accommodate his own weapons’ needs.

“’Scuse me,” the indefatigable form of Darcy Lewis interject as she sidled in front of Barton to push a manila folder toward him.  Bruce took it with a weary smile, one she returned readily and with a great deal more punch.

“From P. Potts,” she said, verbatim, and then turned to Barton.

“Wrex,” she said lowly.

“Shepard,” he growled back at her.

Bruce blinked at the flat expressions on both of their faces.  Darcy pivoted and saluted to Bruce, then sashayed away to continue doing… whatever.  Clint was grinning when they faced each other again.

“So should I just sand down the shaft or what?”

-

“No, no, no, no!  You said you would try it and now you’re gonna man up-“

“Why do we have to say ‘man up’?  Why can’t it ever be ‘woman up’?”

“Whatever.  Woman up, and eat this wing.  Eat this _whole basket_ of wings.”

“Do I have to wear the goggles?”

“The goggles are a courtesy, dude.  You’ll probably go blind without them.”

“…”

“Big stretch, I know.  But it _will_ hurt.”

“…”

“Okay, it’ll hurt more than it’s already going to.”

“Whatever.  I’m not afraid of this.  I lived in New Mexico for half a year and ate enough spicy food to extend the rift known as the Grand Canyon..”

“…That’s most charming thing you’ve said all day.”

“Must be losing my touch.”

“You sure you want that big of a bite?”

“Ish naw so bah.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Wah ah you-  Ohhh shit.”

“Water?  Milk?  Last will and testament?”

“F-f-f-fuck you, Clint.”

“Not with that mouth, thanks.”

-

Natasha strolled into the kitchen, carefully hanging her blazer over the back of the high-backed, walnut-lacquered chair.  Cream-colored cushions beneath a glass table top and a very plush, very taupe carpet beneath.  Tony Stark was a man with many faults, but bad taste was not one of them.  She smoothed the shoulders of her coat carefully as a loud shout behind her caused her to turn ever so slightly in the direction of the kitchen just beyond the dining room.

Her eyes widened fractionally as a frantic- no, _distraught_ , Darcy Lewis sped by her, arms wheeling in the air.  Her maw was covered in red, too bright to be blood, and too rich to be normal.  She was sweating profusely, and fat tears were rolling down her cheeks as she wailed like a banshee let loose on the moors. 

Natasha narrowed her eyes as the girl shrieked from the room, blabbering about death and vengeance.  A quiet chuckle caught her attention, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Clint smirking righteously.

“Bhut jolokia?” she ventured, already knowing the answer.

“She’s handling it about as well as you did.”  He was still shaking with laughter.

“I wonder if your new romance will last under the strain of Darcy’s coming need for retaliation.”

“I wonder if you know the difference between romance and bromance.  Besides, what doesn’t kill us, Natasha… What doesn’t kill us.”  He sauntered from the room, indulging in another round of laughter.

-

He sighed as he stepped back into the common room, for lack of a better term, of their dwelling.  His own suite was just down the hall, but he did not feel like returning to it.  Something about sitting alone in his room, drinking to relax, was pathetic on the other side of a line he had no intention of crossing.

“Bad night?” Darcy asked from the other side of the island.

“Yeah.  What are you doing here?”

“Eating Tony’s cheerios,” she said, holding up her bowl for emphasis.  He ignored the deflection, and let her keep her reasons to herself.

“Got anymore?”

She pushed the box toward him as he approached, but let him get his own bowl and milk.  She was his friend, not his mom.

“So what was so wrong with Chesty Dimpleface?  She didn’t seem like the kind who needed a bag over her head.”

Clint shrugged, “Nah, she was all right.”

“Smokin’!” Darcy sing-song corrected.  He smirked, a little proud of himself.  She shoveled another spoonful of cheerios into her mouth, wiping at a milk droplet on her chin as she chewed.

“I dunno she was just too…  Too…”  He waited, almost wanting Darcy to interject some kind of psychic intuition that would fill in the gap for him.  “Grey’s Anatomy?” he ventured.  She quirked a brow at him.

“And you want a little more Battlestar Galactica, huh?”

“Tricia Helfer’s pretty hot.”

“I had you pegged for an Eddie Olmos guy, myself.”

“Him, too.”

Easy silence fell around them, broken by the sound of crunching cheerios.  When Darcy finished, she put her bowl in the washer and then turned to face Clint.  She approached him easily, lifted her arms, and just as Clint was about to pull away from what he knew was a hug, she cuffed him soundly on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Apollo.  One day your Starbuck will come.  Unless David Eick is writing your destiny, in which case you’re screwed.”

He gave her a mild stink-eye and she shrugged.  “At least it’s not Ron Moore.”

“Nothing like death to ensure true love.”

-

They definitely had double standards in their friendship, but in this case, this moment, Darcy did not mind so much.   She frowned heavily as David shuffled back to her, a pouty expression on what had once been a kissable face as he rubbed his backside wearily.  Now she was too jaded to look to see his face without wanting to do violence.

“Sorry,” he muttered, shifting his eyes away.

Clint gave him another swift kick in the ass for his lack of volume, rocketing him into better posture and a firm stare into Darcy’s face.

“Sorry.”  It was a firm, high tone, and if his face was panicked as he said it, well that was just bonus.

“As you should be,” she said, mocking a curtsy, then turned away from him and stormed back toward her office building, listening to the rapid scuffle of feet as David fled.  Then there was the silence as Clint caught up to her again.

“You OK?” he asked carefully, not too sympathetic, but hovering on the edge of it in case she suddenly wanted to vent.

She huffed a brief laugh and shrugged, “He was definitely not my Starbuck… More like Gaius.  With a side of Number 2.”

“Shit or Leoben?”

“Both. Too hands-on, as you well noticed.”

Clint was silent for a moment before spouting, “Punk.”

“Punk?  Really?  That’s the best you can do?”

“I beat his ass, I can call him what I want.”

“True enough.”

This time her arm did loop through his as they walked toward the building.  She gave it a small squeeze and then let go.

“Thanks, Clint.”

“Anytime, little brother.”

 


End file.
